


One Hundred Drabble Challenge

by sian22



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Precious, Qalvanda the Road of Death, a fire in the blood, a vision of a King, dark au, retreat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/pseuds/sian22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and ficlets on Nircele's One Hundred Drabble Challenge prompts.  Any thing and everything. Men, Elves, Maia;  First through fourth Age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire-Isildur

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge no 1: Fire

It burned.

Hot as an ember, a tiny furnace at once as wild and scalding as the liquid fire of the infernal vent behind.

Bright gold and all the colours of an open flame it shone. Crimson red and saffron yellow, sapphire blue and white. The pain was exquisite.

Slowly it cooled and as it did the very metal hummed with pleasure, relieved it would not know the touch of the forge from whence it came. A dullest gold arose and the flowing words slept once more.

The pain receded but did not end. Diminished but not extinguished, banked like a bed of coals, it would live forever in his flesh.

One fire cooled. Another licked to life.

This time it ran, fast as a conflagration, hot and untrammelled through his blood. The ever more insistent tongues were fed not by air but ardor, by the deepest raw and yawning need.

Precious….

He would, by its own device, not suffer it for long.


	2. Prompt 2-Pet

_Warning: this is dark and very much AU. I am playing on 'Pet' here as in a dog._

* * *

**Prompt#2: Pet**

The young man shifted uncomfortably with a clank and winced.

His belly was full with good red wine and rich dark meat, the soft velvet of the robe was a welcome change. He tried his best to not make a sound. It was warmer after all than the filthy rags but still not soft enough, biting into the bruises that bloomed purple and yellow like twisted passionflowers upon his body.

This was the pattern. Alternating smooth with rough. A dance: one step forward and two back. Submit. Accept. Go away and think on your decision in the dark recesses of the pit.

The light from the hundreds of blazing torches hurt his eyes. He blinked and dropped his gaze to the dish set at his feet. Fairy cakes. Gods they even remembered that.

A large and callused hand reached down to pat idly on his head. He grit his teeth, did his utmost not to flinch as it would only enrage _him_ more.

"Come, come. Why so quiet this lovely eve?" came a deep sonorous voice from up above. "I was just explaining to his excellency the exquisiteness of your verse. Surely you would not make a liar out of me?"

"Sire, I am sorry. I am tired that is all." A lie. They both knew it. Resistance might be allowed in the foetid dark but not in the shining marble hall.

The hand grabbed hard and jerked roughly at his chin. He found himself gazing into deep grey eyes he had once thought to follow. The band of gold upon a finger flashed, bright and alluring, the true master of his days.

"And _I_ am tired of this little game. Sing for me my noble Steward." said Elessar.

"Sing."


	3. Prompt-3 Transportation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more properly a hexadrabble :) Longer than I expected but Will's story wanted to be told.

__**Prompt#3: Transportation**  
  
  


* * *

The procession was an oddly quiet island in the storm of war.

In a world beset by sound and fury the slowly lumbering wains were incongruously peaceful: the quiet creaking of the wheels and light jangle of the harness were broken only by a frightened whinny at an errant flash of light or starting shadow.

The wounded men, all that could be saved from that terrible morning's rout _,_ were mostly silent _._

The small group of horseman rode escort, for though the Enemy had not yet won through the Rammas Echor it would not be long before Orcs like lines of beetles swarmed the golden fields. One rider, clad in shining white, wound back and forth along the line unceasingly. At each pale face Mithrandir would pause to say a quiet world or touch a hand, give succor where he could. His staff and robes glimmered like the pale light of morning that had not come.

So many wounded and they needed every man. The wreck of the Causeway Forts that dawn had been a blow but nigh almost certain. They were too few.

The men fought had hard, had given their all for their beloved Captain but heart alone could not outweigh the numbers: the great black tide that poured in upon them. A quarter of their force now lay pained and silent in the carts. Some paced beside with help and might yet see battle another day but most-most would take days or weeks to be hale enough to fight. Mithrandir sadly shook his head. " _'Today we may make the Enemy pay ten times our loss at the passage and yet rue the exchange."_ So Faramir had said and so they had. The proof lay beside him now.

All through the morn's brown dusk he kept a wary eye to skyward. The Enemy might assail them once again and they could not afford to lose another single man.

"Mithrandir?" A hoarse and breathy voice rose up beside.

The wizard looked down and there, pale and sweating from his pain, lay a young gravely injured Ranger. Blood-soaked bandages were wound about his waist and thigh and a deep gash marred a young beardless face. The lad raised a hand to pluck urgently at a white shining sleeve.

Mithrandir recognized the boy. He was one of the new recruits. 'Will' was the name Mablung had given him as the lieutenant had gently laid his young friend down. _"Watch him for me Sir. He's saved my hide this day. I owe him a few rounds at t'Kine before the day is out."_ The Lieutenant's joking smile was broad but his eyes were grim. He too had seen the mess a pike had made of the Private's abdomen.

At one with his rider's thoughts Shadowfax slowed at once. "Yes, young Will? Can I help?"

"Please Sir, is it easy to find the Road?"

The wizard looked down with a puzzled frown. Poor boy, the last thing he needed was to be worried they could not find their way. He schooled his features to a gentle smile and willed his staff to shine a little brighter for a moment.

"No trouble at all lad. The sky may be dark but I can see the path before us and the shine of Ecthelion's Tower through the gloom. We will be at the Gate before too very long."

 _But perhaps not soon enough_ he thought looking on the unhealthy sheen to the young man's skin.

There came an uncomfortable rustle as Will tried to raise his head. "No Sir, t'weren't what I meant. The Road. Qalvanda. How will I know it when my time has come? I would not miss it. Become caught in some never land and not make it to Namo's Halls."

 _Nienna, Lady of Mercy._ The boy feared to miss the Road of Death. _Oh lad._

Mithrandir looked long into the pleading eyes and saw all too well where Will was bound. The thought of the young man's anguish tore at his heart. Surely it could not be wrong to speak of what he Knew.

"You cannot miss it Will. It is clear and bright and straight and there are sentinels to guide your way." _Who before this day is done will shepherd all too many on their Road._

The pained shoulders lay back down again and the young man coughed, his breath came in shallow, rapid pants. "Aye, then Sir that is good. I hope it is enough. My mam would say I could miss even the road beneath my feet."

The White Pilgrim reached out a gnarled but steady hand and clasped a limp, clammy one. Skin to skin, warmth to fading cool, he felt the ebb tide in the soldier's blood. In truth it would not now be so very long.

 _Master, just this once._ There would be so many more such moments in the days and weeks to come and he could help too few.

A breeze with the warm sweet scent of laurinquë, of Valinor, brushed gently on the soldier's brow. For the briefest moment he let his other Form shine forth. Before them the image of a silver ribbon ran straight and true above the Sea.

_Come Will. Hold my hand and I will set you safely on your road._


	4. Prompt-4 plants

_T.A. 2978 Dol Amroth_

Then as before his footfall was not quite lost, there was the faintest crunch of gravel upon the graceful path.

The dark-haired beauty upon the bench turned to look. Her mantle of deepest blue was crowned at throat and hem with silver stars of mithril thread. They caught the moon's silver light and twinkled as she moved. Beside the smooth white stems of the aspen grove glowed softly. The trembling new green leaves whispered a promise to the rising breeze.

His vision swam. The soft peeling paper bark of snow-white birches glowed in the light of another Mayday moon. A slighter maiden sat, a twilight star of fading memory, dark hair straying in wind and brow bound with gems like stars.

_Though my doom will be not unlike hers…_

His vision broke. Aragorn shook his head and there Finduilas of Dol Amroth sat, not beneath the groves of Rivendell but in the grand and formal gardens laid by her grandmother. The warm sea air held the tang of salt and the soft song of courting tree frogs peeped in the moist and velvet night. _So far. He had come so far._ The yearning for the cool and silence of a hidden vale pierced hard within his breast.

The lady looked up and smiled. From the palace the strains of lute and viol and rippling laughter drifted languidly on the air. The night's revelry had not passed and he was not the only one escaping from the throng.

The Dunadan sighed and strode into a patch of brighter moonlight. It would be churlish to leave her now however much he wished for solitude. "Lady Finduilas, I apologize for disturbing you."

The dark head inclined at his courtly bow. Her jeweled circlet of ijolite and adamant flashed briefly in his sight. "Nay, Captain. Please, do sit. I had tired from the dancing and merely wished to rest." With a rueful smile she placed a hand to her swollen side. "At least for a little while I will not be leading all the gaiety and all too soon we will return to my husband's home."

It did not take Sight to see what was in Finduilas' gracious heart. "You miss it, fair lady? The green about the Bay and its gentle rolling hills." he asked, sitting down on the carved stone bench. It was warm where she had sat. The white marble glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"Always." Her smile was bittersweet. Elegant fingers reached to pluck a white bloom from the bush beside, wound its stem through another already plucked. The sweet heady perfume of frangipani drifted up. "I come to fix the scent and space once more within my heart. It buoys me until I return."

He thought of silver groves and drifts of white Windflower. "Aye. I know that need my Lady. I love this garden for its trembling groves remind well me of my home."

The small bow-shaped mouth twitched and clear grey eyes sparkled once. "And where is that my Lord?"

 _Valar._ Distracted by the beauty of the night he had left an opening in the game they played. "North." He replied, grinning to grant a point for her ready wit.

The petite fair face mimed a disappointed frown. "You will ever remain a mystery, Thorongil."

"No mystery. My home is a valley green and crowned simply with silver birches. Where the song of drowsy nightingales and the scent of stocks drift upward in the eve." _Where walks a lady crowned by stars…_

The long fingers stilled upon the flower chain. A crown of glossy scented petals now sat complete upon the head of Lorien, his stone eyes gazing unseeing over the beds of nodding Asphodel. "Such a poet and you are not yet crowned."

It was Mayday. All about the Bay maidens gifted a crown of flowers to their betrothed or those they wished to court. As the night wore on Aragorn had found it harder and harder to duck the attention with easy grace.

"No my Lady… I am not free." Another slip. The grim visage frowned. What was it about the enchantment of this night that he could not keep his thoughts to himself.

Finduilas' clear grey eyes widened in surprise. Her sudden laugh chimed brightly like the seabreeze through the headland's reeds. "So many puzzled hearts within the hall and now I am keeper of your most dangerous secret."

He could not keep his face from softening. Sometimes even a fighting man needs to open the hidden spaces in his heart. "Dangerous… but so very, very fair."

Finduilas smiled and accepted his quiet gift. "You are trothplighted?"

Now the careworn features widened to a sad and wistful smile. "No. Her father has not accepted my suit just yet. "

"The renowned Captain Thorongil?!" Finduilas' low and honeyed voice was nigh incredulous. "Revered right hand of the powerful Steward of Gondor? Surely no man could doubt your virtue?"

His mouth quirked. _No man perhaps..but a Peredhil surely did._ They were straying into perilous territory and it was time he put her off the scent.

"Lady, was there ever a father who found his daughter's beloved to be of sufficient worth?"

"Perhaps not." She bent again to her craft. The picture of matronly seriousness was belied by the lingering gleam of mischief that lit her dove grey eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief and let the easy silence stretch. Ithil's pearly dew spilled down the velvet night and played on the white flowers that wreathed Lorien's marble curls. The crown fair glowed in the shining silver light.

"Finduilas!" Denethor anxious voice carried on the gentle breeze. The lady looked up and sighed, glanced resignedly toward the terrace. "I should get back. He worries about me so these days."

Aragorn rose and gallantly offered an arm to help her up. Finduilas was not near her time but still the babe was large for her small and bird-like frame.

She squeezed his arm in gratitude. Reaching down, she plucked the finished wreath from off the seat. "Here my lord. A crown worthy of any man. Perhaps if your lady love were here she would see you in another light."

As the Dunadan's dark head bent to accept the gift, a shaft of argent light limned the soft white petals of the buds.

Snow-white, the crown's radiance burned upon his brow.

He watched the vision veil her gaze, saw the wide dark pupils shorn of their grey and the tears glisten on her cheeks. 

 _She knew._ Finduilas, a true daughter of Mithrellas, had Seen.

A king would come again.


End file.
